Wojsko USA w pobliżu granicy zestrzeliło laserami drony karteli. To przyszłość takiej obrony?

Sep2

Agenci Straży Granicznej USA i funkcjonariusze organów ścigania biorą udział w operacji ochrony granicy. Meksykańskie siły zbrojne także patrolują granicę w Ciudad Juarez, po tym jak Stany Zjednoczone uznały meksykański Kartel z Juarez za zagraniczną organizację terrorystyczną. El Paso, Teksas, USA, 13 sierpnia 2026 r. (Fot. REUTERS/Jose Luis Gonzalez)

Wojsko USA w pobliżu granicy zestrzeliło laserami drony karteli. To przyszłość takiej obrony?

Maciej Czarnecki

Nad swoim systemem pracuje m.in. Polska. Lasery są znacznie tańsze niż pociski antydronowe, ale mają też poważne wady.

O zestrzeleniu dronów poinformowały w czwartkowym (27.08) oświadczeniu Dowództwo Północne USA i Dowództwo Obrony Północnoamerykańskiej Przestrzeni Powietrznej i Kosmicznej USA.

Operację przeprowadzono z wtorku na środę (z 25.08 na 26.08) w Dolinie Rio Grande, w pobliżu granicy amerykańsko-meksykańskiej. Wojsko tłumaczyło, że trzy drony meksykańskich karteli stanowiły „fizyczne zagrożenie” dla żołnierzy i agentów straży granicznej.

Jak opisuje agencja Reuters, meksykańskie organizacje przestępcze korzystają w tym regionie z bezzałogowców głównie po to, by dostarczać paczki z narkotykami lub monitorować szlaki przerzutu. W częściach kraju położonych dalej od granicy ze Stanami Zjednoczonymi zdarzało się, że służyły one do przeprowadzania ataków z ładunkami wybuchowymi.

Nie jest jasne, czy drony unieszkodliwiono po amerykańskiej, czy meksykańskiej stronie.

Agencja Reuters przypomina, że prezydentka Meksyku Claudia Sheinbaum ostrzegała, iż działania USA na meksykańskiej ziemi (w tym przypadku w przestrzeni powietrznej) stanowiłyby naruszenie suwerenności jej kraju. 

Armia nie podała też, jaki dokładnie system antydronowy wykorzystano do strącenia bezzałogowców.  

Broń laserowa coraz powszechniejsza. Mają ją m.in. Izrael i Ukraina, a Polska nad nią pracuje

Skądinąd wiadomo jednak, że wojsko USA od 2025 roku ma na wyposażeniu system Locust firmy AeroVironment. W lutym 2026 roku omyłkowo zestrzeliło laserem drona amerykańskiej straży granicznej, co wywołało lawinę pytań od demokratów na Kapitolu.

Podobne systemy laserowe mają Izrael (Iron Beam i Lite Beam koncernu Rafael), Wielka Brytania (Dragon Fly) czy Ukraina (Sunray firmy LAZR). W Polsce nad takim rozwiązaniem pracuje Wojskowa Akademia Techniczna (WAT).

Lasery niszczą drona, skupiając na nim wiązkę promieniowania, która przepala elementy konstrukcji i podzespoły. Oddziaływanie termiczne wymaga jednak czasu: wiązka musi być skupiona na bezzałogowcu co najmniej przez kilka, a często kilkanaście sekund.

Skuteczność użycia laserów poważnie zmniejszają czynniki pogodowe, takie jak mgła, deszcz czy dym. W dodatku lasery stanowią obronę powietrzną krótkiego zasięgu, efektywną na maksymalnie kilka kilometrów.  

Z drugiej strony, unieszkodliwianie dronów laserami jest znacznie tańsze niż za pomocą pocisków (nierzadko kosztujących dziesiątki tysięcy dolarów) czy nawet niedrogich dronów przechwytujących. Podczas prezentacji Sunraya przekonywano, że koszt zniszczenia jednego wynosi 50 centów.

Systemy laserowe mają też nieograniczoną „amunicję”.

Polacy pracują nad własną bronią laserową

Polski projekt systemu ASBL, nad którym pracuje WAT, będzie mógł być wykorzystywany także do obrony miast. Konstruktorzy zapowiadają, że na zniszczenie drona laser będzie potrzebował od 10 do 20 sekund a koszt takiego „strzału” wyniesie około 100 złotych. 

– Zadaniem systemu będzie namierzanie, śledzenie i unieszkodliwianie dronów obserwacyjnych, FPV, dronów kamikadze w maksymalnej odległości półtora kilometra

– powiedział na początku sierpnia kierownik projektu i dyrektor Instytutu Optoelektroniki WAT Krzysztof Kopczyński (cyt. za miesięcznikiem „Polska Zbrojna”).

Projekt systemu ASBL uzyskał dofinansowanie ponad 33 milionów złotych z Narodowego Centrum Badań i Rozwoju (NCBiR) w ramach programu „PERUN”.

Redagowała Iwona Görke

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The Dream We Let Fade

Sep2

The Dream We Let Fade


Michael Tobin

When I was an 18-year-old civil rights volunteer, a Black woman took me into her home in Tennessee and treated me like a son. Now, at 80, I worry that the fragile bond between our communities has frayed.

Civil rights demonstrators, including Martin Luther King Jr. and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, march from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, March 22, 1965. / AFP via Getty Images

A few months ago, I joined the advisory board of the Prohuman Foundation, a nonprofit organization that promotes every person’s individuality and shared humanity. When I met its leadership shortly thereafter, they showed me a graphic for a new campaign to restore the weathered plaque at the Lincoln Memorial marking the site where Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech. Millions of visitors pass by it each year, yet few notice it. The plaque itself had faded badly. The words are still there, but time has nearly erased them. It was a stark reminder of how easily even our most important memories can disappear, not because they no longer matter, but because no one has paused long enough to restore them.

I found myself thinking about one of King’s most famous lines: “I have a dream that one day little Black boys and Black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.” Visions, like plaques, require maintenance. Left unattended, both can weather, fade, and eventually disappear from view. It became clear to me that restoring the plaque was about more than bronze and stone. It was about reviving something that has faded over the years: Dr. King’s dream.

The alliance between Blacks and Jews that once stood at the heart of the Civil Rights Movement seems far weaker than it did when I was a young civil rights worker in the 1960s. My conversation with the foundation’s leaders took me back to those years and to the work I was privileged to take part in. I picked up a book by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel that sat on my table and showed it to them.

“Heschel marched with King from Selma to Montgomery,” I said.

Then I added something I hadn’t considered for years.

“I was there.”

They immediately wanted to know more.

As I began to talk, faded memories returned. At first, they came in fragments: the growling of police dogs, the hatred on the white faces behind barricades, the spittle that landed near our feet, the cheap hamburgers I seemed to eat nonstop, and a church in Atlanta where we were taught to remain calm when people screamed at us, cursed us, and wanted us gone.

Then another memory surfaced. The summer after Selma. The West Tennessee Voters Project.

My mother was horrified when I told her I wanted to volunteer. Only a year earlier, two young Jewish civil rights workers, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner, along with James Chaney, had been murdered in Mississippi.

“You want him to end up like Goodman and Schwerner?” she asked my father.

My father reacted differently. An adventurer by temperament, he shrugged and said, “It’s what he has to do.”

Visions, like plaques, require maintenance. Left unattended, both can weather, fade, and eventually disappear.

A few weeks later, I found myself in Somerville, Tennessee, the county seat of Fayette County. I remember almost nothing about the project’s headquarters. What I remember is the heat. The oppressive humidity wrapped around me like a hot, dripping blanket. I remember watermelons, huge and ruby red, sold at roadside stands. I remember endless two-lane roads disappearing into walls of green. Cotton fields stretching toward the horizon. Red clay shoulders along the road. Front porches. Screen doors slamming shut. The smell of earth after an afternoon thunderstorm. Everywhere I looked, the landscape seemed larger, greener, and more alive than anything I had known on Long Island.

The project director was a white man whose name I no longer remember. What I do remember is that he was cold, impatient, and mildly annoyed by my presence. I was another volunteer, another kid from the north. He gave me a few instructions, told me where I would be staying, and quickly moved on to more important matters.

Then someone told me I would be living with a woman named Mrs. Meadows.

She changed everything for me.

Mrs. Meadows lived on a large piece of property on the Mississippi-Tennessee line. Her son and his family lived nearby. She was a small woman, about 80 years old, with gray hair, freckles, and a beautiful smile. Looking back, I realize that what struck me first was not how she looked, but how she made me feel. After the chilly reception at project headquarters, she welcomed me with a warmth that immediately put me at ease. I had traveled hundreds of miles from home and landed in a world completely unfamiliar to me. Yet from the moment I arrived, she treated me as if she had been expecting me all along.

She fed me well. Most evenings, we sat together and talked. She asked me about my future. I told her I wanted to become a lawyer. Sometimes she spoke about growing up in Mississippi. She described the Klan, the beatings, and the lynchings she remembered from childhood, as well as the complicated hierarchy within the Black community. She was light-skinned and explained that, for generations, lighter skin often carried social advantages. I listened carefully, or at least I thought I did. At 18, much of what she told me washed over me. Only decades later would I begin to understand the world she described.

What I remember most vividly is her voice. It was warm, melodic, and comforting. She had a twinkle in her eye and a homespun wisdom that seemed effortless. We made each other laugh. She treated me almost like a son.

The next morning, my guide arrived. I no longer remember his real name, so let’s call him Big Sam. The first time I saw him, he rode toward the house bareback on a horse. He was tall, athletic, handsome, and completely fearless. He reminded me of Jim Brown. More than anything, he carried himself like a prince. He had a quiet confidence that fascinated me from the moment we met.

Together, we went door-to-door, encouraging people to register to vote. I wish I remembered more of the mechanics of the work. What I remember are the people. Sometimes, small children would see me coming and run. I can still picture them disappearing behind their mothers or around house corners. At the time, I was confused. I felt like some kind of evil white ghost. Big Sam wasn’t confused at all. He would kneel, speak gently to them, and assure them I was okay. Only later did I appreciate the significance of those moments. Before I could help anyone, someone first had to make me trustworthy.

Big Sam introduced me to his world: his friends, his church, and the rhythms of a life that was completely foreign to me. What strikes me now is how quickly they accepted me. Looking back, I don’t know why. I was a Jewish kid from Long Island who knew almost nothing about the South or Black life and certainly almost nothing about the realities these young men and women faced every day. Yet somehow they welcomed me into their circle.

What I remember is the energy. The laughter. The teasing. The music. The dancing. The flirting. There was a spontaneity and vitality that captivated me. I felt more alive than I had ever been. During the day, we drove dusty roads and knocked on doors. At night, we gathered on porches, at parties, at church events, or wherever young people happened to be. I had come south believing I was joining a movement. In many ways, I had also stumbled into a world that expanded my understanding of life itself.

For the first time in my life, I attended a Black church. Nothing in my suburban Jewish upbringing had prepared me for it. The music seemed to rise from deep within the congregation. People sang with their whole bodies. The church felt alive. I remember looking around and feeling something I couldn’t articulate at the time. I felt at home, even if it did not resemble anything I knew—or maybe because it didn’t.

One evening, Mrs. Meadows said something that has stayed with me for more than 60 years. She told me that Black people in the South had learned to be cautious around white people. Too much history stood between them. Too many consequences. I heard her words but did not fully grasp their meaning. Today, I understand that she was describing something far deeper than simple distrust. She was describing what generations of oppression do to human relationships.

Not all of my education came from Mrs. Meadows or the voter registration project. Some of it came from the ordinary dramas of being 18. One night, Big Sam took me to a party. There, I met a young woman with striking green-brown eyes. We spent hours talking. Somehow, the conversation turned to Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird. I told her I admired Atticus Finch and wanted to become a lawyer. She told me she wanted to leave Fayette County and see more of the world than the one she had inherited.

Then one day she told me she loved me. No girl had ever said those words to me before. I was terrified. I was in love, too, but the words stuck in my throat. History was unfolding around us. Civil rights workers were risking their lives. We were trying to register voters in counties where Black citizens had been intimidated and excluded for generations. Yet we were still 18.

As summer drew to a close, I found myself facing a realization I had never anticipated: I didn’t want to leave.

I had arrived believing I was helping others. I left carrying far more than I had given. Mrs. Meadows, Big Sam, the church, the young people, the roads, the fields, the conversations—they had all become part of me. I could not have explained it then. I knew only that leaving felt wrong.

I don’t remember saying goodbye to Mrs. Meadows. I wish I did. I am certain she hugged me and that she cried. I suspect I was emotional too, though I wasn’t very skilled at understanding my own feelings. If she gave me advice, it was probably something simple, like “Follow your dream.”

A year later, I returned to Tennessee with several friends. I wanted them to meet this remarkable woman who had welcomed a Jewish kid from Long Island into her home and treated him like family.

When I arrived, I learned that she had died. I don’t remember much else from that trip. Only the shock and the sadness.

For decades, Mrs. Meadows gradually faded into the background of my life. I thought about her occasionally, but not often. Marriage, graduate school, children, a career, moving to Israel, and my wife Deborah’s Alzheimer’s—life kept unfolding, as life does. The years accumulated, and the memory of that summer grew fainter, though it never entirely disappeared.

Then a faded plaque brought her back.

As I sat, talking about Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream and the need to restore what has been neglected, Mrs. Meadows began to emerge from the shadows of memory. First, her smile. Then her voice. Then her laughter. Then the warmth with which she welcomed me into her home.

I can imagine her sitting on her porch, rocking slowly back and forth and listening, smiling, and shaking her head in her gentle way. Then, in a voice that sounded more like music than speech, she might say, Honey, you followed your dream.

I found myself wishing I could sit with her one more time. Not as the 18-year-old boy she knew, but as the 80-year-old man I have become. I would tell her about my life, about becoming a psychologist, about Deborah. About my children and grandchildren. About moving to Israel. About all the twists and turns she never lived to see. About how even though relations between our respective communities have frayed since I stayed in her house, I’m still working to keep Dr. King’s dream from fading.

Michael S. Tobin is a clinical psychologist and award-winning author. His memoir, Riding the Edge, won the Silver Prize in the Nonfiction Book Awards, and his novel The Veil earned a Quarterfinalist Award in the BookLife Prize. His recent novel, Resonance, co-authored with Daniel Chertoff, will be published this October by Amplify/Subplot. Michael sits on the Advisory Board of the ProHuman Foundation, founded by Daryl Davis.

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Belgian Airline Workers Threaten Strike Over Mandatory Tel Aviv Flights, Citing Security and ‘Ethical’ Concerns

Sep2

Belgian Airline Workers Threaten Strike Over Mandatory Tel Aviv Flights, Citing Security and ‘Ethical’ Concerns

Ailin Vilches Arguello

Brussels Airlines has removed an Israeli halva product from its in-flight menu. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

Belgian airline workers have filed a formal strike notice over Brussels Airlines’ decision to resume flights to Tel Aviv while requiring employees to work the Israel route, citing security concerns and what they called the “ethical implications” of operating flights amid the war in Gaza.

Effective Sept. 1, Belgian trade union ACV Puls, which represents workers in the service sector, is expected to launch protest measures if Brussels Airlines does not reverse its decision to make Tel Aviv assignments mandatory, potentially disrupting flights to and from Israel.

Under a previous agreement, Brussels Airlines had planned for flights to Tel Aviv to initially be staffed exclusively by employees who volunteered for the assignments.

With its Israel route returning this summer, the airline offered grants, bonuses and other financial incentives to employees who volunteered to staff the flights.

A shortage of volunteers for the planned schedule has now led the airline to move away from voluntary staffing and return to its standard crew-assignment system, making Tel Aviv flights mandatory for some employees.

The company also said that the successful resumption of operations over the summer had helped normalize the service, allowing it to resume regular crew assignments while stressing that safety remains its highest priority.

“Together with the other airlines in the Lufthansa Group, we will continue to monitor the situation on the ground closely and can adjust our procedures at any time, should that be necessary,” the statement reads.

However, ACV Puls argues that Brussels Airlines’ decision to require employees to accept assignments to Israel despite the security situation fails to meet its responsibility to protect workers from potential security and health risks.

The union also pointed to the “psychological and ethical” implications of operating the route, citing what it described as the “genocide in Gaza.”

“There are serious concerns among employees regarding physical safety, as well as the psychological and ethical impact of the flights,” Yolinde Defeu, representative of the union, said in a statement. 

“Brussels Airlines refuses to give employees the option to refuse such assignments. This is particularly grave in the context of the ongoing war and genocide in Gaza,” Defeu continued.

ACV Puls also cited Belgium’s Foreign Ministry guidance, including warnings over the security risks and advice against nonessential travel to Israel and Jerusalem, while pledging to support employees who decline assignments on such routes.

“A shortage of volunteers does not give a free hand to coerce workers,” the union’s statement said.

ACV Puls is demanding that employees with “serious safety or conscientious reservations” be allowed to refuse Tel Aviv assignments without financial, professional or disciplinary penalties. It is also calling on the Belgian government to clarify its policy on commercial flights to conflict zones and protections for airline workers.

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Kiedy Żydzi mizrahi skorzystali ze swojego „prawa powrotu”

Sep1

Kiedy Żydzi mizrahi skorzystali ze swojego „prawa powrotu”

Lyn Julius

Nie da się cofnąć zegara w kwestii wymiany uchodźców

Jeśli kiedykolwiek czytaliście znakomitą książkę The War of Return Einat Wilf i Adiego Schwartza, zrozumielibyście, że sednem sprawy palestyńskiej jest „prawo powrotu” palestyńskich uchodźców oraz milionów ich potomków do Izraela. Cała reszta – rozwiązanie dwupaństwowe czy jego brak – to odwracanie uwagi od istoty sprawy.

Już w latach 70. przywódcy arabscy zdali sobie sprawę, że nie mogą domagać się „prawa powrotu” dla swoich arabskich pobratymców, skoro sami wypędzili niemal milion Żydów. Dlatego w 1975 roku Liga Arabska wystąpiła z apelem do Żydów mizrahi – zwłaszcza tych mieszkających w Izraelu – aby powrócili do krajów, w których się urodzili. Irak i Maroko należały do państw najgłośniej popierających tę inicjatywę. Dzięki temu państwom arabskim nie można już było zarzucać, że odmawiają swoim byłym żydowskim obywatelom „prawa powrotu”.

Trzydzieści lat wcześniej żydowska społeczność świata arabskiego została zdziesiątkowana: Żydzi uciekali przed pogromami oraz usankcjonowanymi przez państwo prześladowaniami i wywłaszczeniami. Pod każdym względem była to bezprecedensowa, choć w dużej mierze przemilczana, „czystka etniczna”.

Do 1975 roku w Libii pozostała już tylko garstka Żydów ze społeczności liczącej niegdyś 38 tysięcy osób. W 2004 roku pułkownik Muammar Kaddafi zaprosił libijskich Żydów, by „wrócili do domu”, a następnie niewielka delegacja żydowska odwiedziła Libię. Nie był to jednak pierwszy przypadek, gdy libijski przywódca wzywał Żydów do powrotu do kraju ich urodzenia. Kiedy podobną propozycję złożył w 1975 roku („Czyż nie jesteście Arabami tak jak my, arabskimi Żydami?”), Albert Memmi, urodzony w Tunezji francuski pisarz i intelektualista, odpowiedział z drwiną:

„Owszem, rzeczywiście byliśmy arabskimi Żydami – pod względem naszych obyczajów, kultury, muzyki, kuchni. Ale czy trzeba pozostać arabskim Żydem, jeśli w zamian trzeba drżeć o własne życie i przyszłość swoich dzieci oraz zawsze mieć odmawiane prawo do normalnego życia? Chcielibyśmy być arabskimi Żydami. Jeśli porzuciliśmy tę ideę, to dlatego, że przez stulecia muzułmańscy Arabowie systematycznie uniemożliwiali jej urzeczywistnienie swoją pogardą i okrucieństwem.”

Kto przy zdrowych zmysłach wróciłby do krajów, które pozostawały równie wrogie wobec Żydów jak w dniu, w którym zostali z nich wypędzeni?

W 1975 roku iracka Rada Dowództwa Rewolucji wydała dekret – którego istnienie potwierdza amerykański raport dyplomatyczny – zezwalający irackim Żydom, którzy wyemigrowali po 1948 roku, na powrót do Bagdadu i odzyskanie praw wynikających z irackiego obywatelstwa.

Jednym z ludzi, którzy odpowiedzieli na ten apel, był Mordechaj Khabaza, iracki Żyd mieszkający w Izraelu.

Gdy tylko Khabaza przybył z „syjonistycznego tworu”, natychmiast wzbudził podejrzliwość i gniew kilkuset Żydów, którzy pozostali w Iraku. Unikali z nim kontaktu, obawiając się, że władze oskarżą ich o utrzymywanie kontaktów z syjonistą. Syjonizm uznano za przestępstwo zagrożone karą śmierci, a Żydom powszechnie stawiano sfabrykowane zarzuty szpiegostwa.

Według jednej z relacji Khabaza zachęcał iracki wywiad do skonfiskowania wszystkich zwojów Tory z synagog, „z wyjątkiem garstki potrzebnej do modlitw”. Pomógł władzom zgromadzić zbiór żydowskich dokumentów, który – jak na ironię – został później odnaleziony przez Amerykanów, w wodzie, w zalanej piwnicy siedziby tajnej policji. W 2003 roku przewieziono go z Bagdadu do Teksasu w celu konserwacji.

O Mordechaju Khabazie więcej nie słyszano. Społeczność żydowska uważała, że Saddam kazał go zabić, gdy przestał być użyteczny.

Do Iraku z Izraela powróciło również troje członków rodziny Nawi. Małżeństwo, którego oboje członkowie aktywnie działali w partii komunistycznej w Petach Tikwie, przeprowadziło się wraz z synem z powrotem do Bagdadu. Pani Nawi powiedziała reporterom na bagdadzkim lotnisku, że teraz, kiedy znów zaczęła oddychać bagdadzkim powietrzem, czuje się, jakby wróciła do raju. Jednak po pewnym czasie również ta rodzina zniknęła bez śladu.

Według jednej z opowieści społeczność żydowska otrzymała trumnę oraz polecenie pochowania jej na żydowskim cmentarzu w Bagdadzie. Funkcjonariusze służb bezpieczeństwa towarzyszyli członkom społeczności na cmentarzu, aby dopilnować, że trumna nie zostanie otwarta. Niektórzy Żydzi natychmiast uznali, że w trumnie znajdowały się ciała małżeństwa Nawi. Inni sądzą, że była to trumna Mordechaja Khabazy.

Niewielka liczba Żydów powróciła do Maroka, jednak wezwanie arabskich przywódców, by Żydzi skorzystali ze swojego „prawa powrotu”, zakończyło się fiaskiem. Jedyna droga prowadząca do pokoju i pojednania wymaga od nich uznania, że doszło do wymiany uchodźców między Żydami mizrahi a palestyńskimi Arabami. Zegara nie da się cofnąć: żadna z tych grup nie może wrócić.

Jednak UNRWA, która utrwala problem uchodźców palestyńskich w nieskończoność, nadal daje Palestyńczykom płonną nadzieję, że kiedyś powrócą. Żydzi już dawno przestali być uchodźcami, dlatego – jak twierdzą Wilf i Schwartz – rozwiązaniem musi być likwidacja UNRWA.

Link do oryginału:

Lyn’s Substack
When Mizrahi Jews exercised their ‘right of return’
If you have ever read the excellent book, The War of Return by Einat Wilf and Adi Schwartz, you would understand that the Palestinian cause is all about ‘the right of return’ to Israel of Palestinian refugees and their millions of descendants. Everything else – two-state solution or not – is a red herring…

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America’s New Scam?: Hamas Elections by Another Name is Still Hamas

Sep1

America’s New Scam?: Hamas Elections by Another Name is Still Hamas

Khaled Abu Toameh

  • Hussein al-Sheikh, vice president of the Palestinian Authority (PA) and deputy chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), revealed this week that Hamas… has reached an understanding with the US permitting figures affiliated with the terrorist organization to participate [in the upcoming November 29 PA elections] through a “new political framework.”
  • If this account is accurate, the scheme amounts to a dangerous exercise in deception.
  • Changing Hamas’s name does not change Hamas. Pretending that Hamas-affiliated election candidates are somehow different from Hamas because they are running under another banner is a scam.
  • Perhaps they could call themselves the “Palestinian Peace Movement,” or the “Palestinian Party for Democracy and Transparency”?
  • Hamas does not recognize Israel’s right to exist. It has never accepted the PLO as the “sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people.” It rejects the Oslo Accords. Its ideology remains centered on “resistance” and the claimed “liberation” of Palestine — which in fact has never existed — wishfully from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea.
  • Most importantly, Hamas has still not demonstrated that it is prepared to surrender its weapons and cease functioning as an armed organization.
  • Hamas will promise anything if doing so helps it survive and return to political legitimacy.
  • Hamas has proved itself adept at telling outsiders what they want to hear while pursuing its long-term objectives.
  • The same danger applies to elections
  • Why, after October 7, should anyone, let alone the Trump administration, be searching for formulas to facilitate Hamas’s return to Palestinian political life?
  • Why, nearly three years after October 7, 2023, does a terrorist organization such as Hamas continue to be treated by various international and regional parties as some kind of indispensable political actor? Hamas officials continue to participate in negotiations and meetings through regional mediators, while discussions increasingly seem aimed not at removing Hamas from Palestinian political life but at finding ways to accommodate it.
  • There can be no loophole called “Hamas-affiliated independents.” There can be no cosmetic rebranding and no supposedly “new political framework” designed to disguise the identity of candidates who continue to embrace Hamas and its jihadist ideology.
  • Stop the deception. Stop searching for ways to sneak Hamas back into Palestinian political life through the back door. It is not good for either their election or America’s.

Changing Hamas’s name does not change Hamas. Pretending that Hamas-affiliated election candidates are somehow different from Hamas because they are running under another banner is a scam. If candidates are affiliated with Hamas, support Hamas or subscribe to its extremist ideology, what difference does the name of their electoral list make? Pictured: The Palestinian Legislative Council building in Ramallah on January 28, 2006, three days after its last election. (Photo by Zharan Hammad/Getty Images)

If reports about an agreement between the United States and Hamas concerning the terrorist group’s participation in the upcoming Palestinian Authority elections are true, the arrangement is not only outrageous, it is a fraud.

Hussein al-Sheikh, vice president of the Palestinian Authority (PA) and deputy chairman of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), revealed this week that Hamas would not participate in the November 28 parliamentary elections under its own name or in its current form. According to al-Sheikh, Hamas has reached an understanding with the US permitting figures affiliated with the terrorist organization to participate through a “new political framework.”

If this account is accurate, the scheme amounts to a dangerous exercise in deception.

Changing Hamas’s name does not change Hamas. Pretending that Hamas-affiliated election candidates are somehow different from Hamas because they are running under another banner is a scam. If candidates are affiliated with Hamas, support Hamas or subscribe to its extremist ideology, what difference does the name of their electoral list make?

Would indirect affiliation with Hamas somehow be acceptable? Would Hamas supporters become moderates simply because the word “Hamas” does not appear on the ballot?

Perhaps they could call themselves the “Palestinian Peace Movement,” or the “Palestinian Party for Democracy and Transparency”? Would that suddenly transform an Islamist terrorist organization committed to jihad (holy war) against Israel into a collection of liberal democrats?

This farce has been tried before. In January 2006, Hamas contested the PA parliamentary election not under the name Hamas, but under the seemingly innocuous banner Change and Reform. It won 74 of the 132 seats in the Palestinian Legislative Council, compared to 45 for the ruling Fatah faction.

What “change” and “reform” did Hamas ultimately bring?

The “change” was the establishment of a heavily armed Islamist regime in the Gaza Strip after Hamas violently seized control of the territory in 2007.

The “reform” consisted of building tunnels, manufacturing and smuggling rockets and other weapons, recruiting terrorists and indoctrinating generations of Palestinians in jihad and hatred of Israel.

The world saw the ultimate expression of Hamas’s “Change and Reform” on October 7, 2023, when Hamas and other Palestinians invaded Israel, murdered 1,200 Israelis and foreign nationals and kidnapped hundreds more, and committed atrocities that triggered a devastating war whose consequences have been disastrous for Israelis and Palestinians alike.

After nearly three years of bloodshed, are Washington and other international actors really contemplating another experiment in pretending to rebrand Hamas?

The 2006 election should have taught everyone a lesson.

At the time, the United States and its European allies did not require Hamas, as a condition for participating in the election, to recognize Israel, renounce terrorism, and accept agreements signed between Israel and the PLO.

These conditions should have been imposed before Hamas was allowed to enter the political system, not after it had won control of parliament.

Hamas’s participation was especially cynical because the elections themselves were rooted in the Oslo Accords, which Hamas had always rejected.

The 1995 Israeli-Palestinian Interim Agreement, “Oslo II,” explicitly provided for “direct, free and general political elections” for the Palestinian Legislative Council and the head of its executive authority. It also established detailed arrangements governing Palestinian Authority elections.

Hamas, in other words, rejected Oslo while exploiting the political institutions created by Oslo to reach power.

Now history appears in danger of repeating itself. PA President Mahmoud Abbas has made clear that Palestinian political factions seeking participation in the political system must accept the PLO’s political program and international obligations, United Nations resolutions, and the principle of one authority, one law, and one legitimate security force.

Hamas, in practice, accepts none of these conditions. Hamas does not recognize Israel’s right to exist. It has never accepted the PLO as the “sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people.” It rejects the Oslo Accords. Its ideology remains centered on “resistance” and the claimed “liberation” of Palestine — which in fact has never existed — wishfully from the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea.

Most importantly, Hamas has still not demonstrated that it is prepared to surrender its weapons and cease functioning as an armed organization.

So, what exactly would qualify a Hamas-affiliated candidate to participate in elections? A declaration signed on a piece of paper?

Hamas will promise anything if doing so helps it survive and return to political legitimacy.

Before October 7, 2023, Hamas persuaded many people that it was just eager to improve economic conditions in the Gaza Strip. Hamas insisted that it was only interested in preserving the relative calm, increasing the number of Gazans permitted to work in Israel, and securing additional aid. Hamas, presumably as part of its deception, even publicly punished Gazans who tried to break the intermittent ceasefires.

Then came October 7, 2023. That event should have destroyed forever the fantasy that Hamas’s tactical behavior can be confused with ideological moderation. Hamas has proved itself adept at telling outsiders what they want to hear while pursuing its long-term objectives.

The same danger applies to elections. A Hamas candidate does not stop being a Hamas candidate because he removes the Hamas logo from his campaign posters. A terrorist organization does not become moderate because it establishes a front party, recruits self-proclaimed “independent” candidates, or hides behind “technocrats.”

If al-Sheikh’s description of the understanding with the Americans is correct, the question Washington needs to answer is simple: Why?

Why, after October 7, should anyone, let alone the Trump administration, be searching for formulas to facilitate Hamas’s return to Palestinian political life?

Why, nearly three years after October 7, 2023, does a terrorist organization such as Hamas continue to be treated by various international and regional parties as some kind of indispensable political actor? Hamas officials continue to participate in negotiations and meetings through regional mediators, while discussions increasingly seem aimed not at removing Hamas from Palestinian political life but at finding ways to accommodate it.

This message tells Palestinians, Hamas and other designated groups that terrorism carries no lasting political price — an outcome the Taliban in Afghanistan are enjoying all too well.

The lesson all these groups — including the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) savagely ruling Iran — will inevitably draw is that if you survive long enough, the world will rehabilitate you.

The international community should instead make one principle clear: Hamas cannot remain both an armed terrorist organization and a legitimate political actor. There can be no loophole called “Hamas-affiliated independents.” There can be no cosmetic rebranding and no supposedly “new political framework” designed to disguise the identity of candidates who continue to embrace Hamas and its jihadist ideology.

Stop the deception. Stop searching for ways to sneak Hamas back into Palestinian political life through the back door. It is not good for either their election or America’s.

Khaled Abu Toameh is an award-winning journalist based in Jerusalem.

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